The Forgotten Conspirator
by civilwarrose
Summary: The 1865 execution in the POV of David, one of the men hanged alongside Mary Surratt. He was the man who spent John Wilkes Booth's last days with him.


_This story is an account of the 1865 execution of four people convicted in a plot to assassinate President Lincoln. _

_I chose to write this in the viewpoint of 23-year-old Davey Herold, one of the four who were hanged. In the movie 'The Conspirator,' he's seen as the whimpering conspirator on the gallows next to Lewis Payne. He had spent twelve days riding with Booth after Lincoln's shooting. After reading various historical accounts, I felt compelled to flesh out his character a bit. _

* * *

_July 7, 1865_

Seventeen-year-old Emma's voice dissolved into sobs as she commenced her reading from the family Bible. David looked up at her, finally, after staring at his hands, chained together in the Lilly irons, dirty and scabbed. His younger sister's face was wet with tears and her brown hair dampened with sweat as she hugged the worn, leather bound Bible to her chest.

David looked around, in agony, at the faces of his seven sisters. All of them similar, yet different, all of them pretty young ladies, with variations of the same dark brown curled hair. He was their only brother, and he failed his family. Not only did he commit a crime of treason that disgraced the Union, he was a convicted conspirator in the plot to assassinate the President. His parents' nightmare had come true. At least his father had died of the consumption last year, and was spared the humiliation that his only son will now die as an assassin and a traitor.

David's mother had not come to Old Arsenal. She was at home, and under medications. It was just too agonizing for her to bear. He wished he could have seen her again, and was crestfallen when she didn't appear. But at least all of his sisters had come to forgive him and say goodbye. They were all he had left.

David's mind went back to the image of the man who caused all this, who lured him to help commit the crime of the century, the scoundrel now cursed to eternal hell.

John Wilkes Booth.

He had been suave, urbane, commanding, and popular with the ladies, everything that David, at age twenty-two, had lacked. When they had met, David had been in hard luck. He'd quit a respectable job at a drugstore, in hopes of doing something gallant and covert for the Confederate Cause, when he became deeply involved, way over his head, with a plot that almost seemed a joke at first but became dead serious before David realized it.

Booth promised fame, glory, and possible victory in the event that the kidnapping plot - kidnapping the President himself in exchange for Rebel prisoners of war- had become successful. "They'll put up a statue of you for sure, Davey!" he'd exclaimed. He introduced him to the low and smoky, but exciting and glamorous life of the theatre. Tickets to the productions were on the house, often given to David and his friend George personally by Booth. It had been so delightful to be considered one of the best friends of the most popular young actor in the Union and the Confederacy combined. David's friend, George Atzerodt, a German immigrant, felt quite the same way. "By Jing, we ze top of society, now, wit' zat Vilkes Booth givin' us gut times!" he'd say jovially to David in the taverns.

He'd thought that Booth would _always_ give them good times. But his journey with Booth in April of 1865 had gone terribly wrong- as a fugitive on the run, hiding in the cold, wet Zekiah Swamp, a backbreaking row on the Potomac at night, and finally, a standoff in a burning barn in Virginia. He'd watched as Booth was dragged from the barn, shot through the neck. He recalled the look in his dying eyes as he looked at his hands and whispered, "Useless- useless." David himself was dragged back to Washington like livestock, wrapped in ropes by the Union troops, while Booth's corpse dripped blood from the back of a wagon. David's adventure had come to an end...

In a heartbeat, the sisters stood up from their seated positions on the stony floor of the prison cell. Seven black, bouffant hoop skirts rose and moved, in single file, out of the door and into the sizzling sun of the prison yard. Alice, the youngest, was the last to leave. She glanced back, a look of grief, and yes, scorn also, beneath her black veiled bonnet.

It was time.

The two guards came and yanked David from the floor. He was whisked out into the brilliant midday sunlight and scorching heat. He had just enough time to put on his old grey hat, the one he'd worn during his doomed adventure with Booth. In front and behind him, also flanked by blue coated Union guards, were three familiar people. He recognized Mrs. Surratt, the mother of his only "respectable" friend, Johnny, a secret Confederate spy. She had been an acquaintance for some time, and a finer, more pious Christian lady couldn't be known. She was still an attractive lady, calm and dignified at the age of forty-two. Even her dowdy dress, now dirty, and the irons and chains couldn't hide that. Her faithful priest stood at her side, with his Bible and rosary in hand.

Behind her, and in front of David, was Lewis, the tall, handsome, and strapping hit man who had stabbed the secretary of state- but failed to kill. With all his bravado and brawn, he was shown to be a gentle young man deep down inside. He bravely swaggered to his impending doom, as if he were about to be crowned Prince.

Walking behind David was George- his good friend and partner in tavern-hopping and play-attending. They'd done everything together this past year, traveling back and forth between Washington and the little town of Port Tobacco, in secret missions for the Confederate cause. George's lady friend, a widow named Elizabeth, had come to visit him in in his cell that morning.

But there would be no true lady-love, other than his own flesh and blood sisters, shedding tears of grief for David today. He had never had a courting relationship with any girl, because the girls of good upbringing among Washington, like the friends of his sisters, avoided boys like him. He was nice enough looking, despite being a little short of stature- but it was on account of his bad company and habits; having a liking for the company of public girls in brothels, as well as hanging with "wastrels" such as Atzerodt. With his lower choices of friends, and a ne'er-do-well reputation back in school and at work, he'd been shunned by most of middle-class Washington society, and spent most of his time running with, as his mother often said, "ingrates and hooligans." The theater people were the most reprehensible of all to her and his sisters. Finally, one morning, he argued back at his mother, "Well, Ma- looks as if I'm one of 'em!" Thus began a downward spiral of rebellion which culminated in, eventually, vice and crime.

He was reminded again of his sinful young life when the reverend from his family church came to his side. The clergyman regarded him quietly, with stern yet caring blue eyes. No words would be spoken to him now, any words would wait until they reached the gallows in a few, brief moments.

They marched out into full view of the public. A brick wall. A line of soldiers stood above the tall brick wall, and a larger throng of bluecoats to the right. In the center, smelling of fresh, newly-hewn lumber, stood the gallows.

The stairs were coming. The others before him ascended. He was next. This was not real to him, it was like a nightmare. His feet felt like lead, not only from the leaden ball and chain. He did not want to ascend those steps. Firm hands of burly bluecoats carried his slight, five-foot-six frame upward. Thirteen steps.

David looked downward at his feet. His shoes were removed, and he wore only stockings against the rough new lumber. A small chair lay ahead. He was told by the minister that he had to sit down in it, for proper protocol, but the minister's voice was like a hound dog's howling in a rainstorm.

Hound dogs. Hunting in Maryland. His mind tried to find a solace, a safe place. Luther and Marie, the brown and white hounds who helped him track down foxes in the woods near the eastern branch of the Potomac. The woods itself, the shimmering waters of the river. Looking for partridges and pheasant. Drinking whiskey with George. All good times. All of this could have been his life right now, instead of here on this gallows, had it not been for that man who he'd naively considered "friend."

In retrospect, it was not hatred of the President that motivated David to become involved in the plot. He had thought he wanted "that tyrant" Lincoln dead at first, but his conscience rebuked him now, too late. It wasn't political gain either. David, being of ideal military age, had not joined either the Union or Confederate armies, because he wasn't forced. His mother paid a good percentage of the funds the family had left to ensure that. She and Pa had tried to secure their son a non-combat job with the Union, but David kept coming up with excuses not to take the position. He'd been the black sheep of the family, secretly serving the Confederacy with Johnny Surratt and others under cover of a job as an innocent medicine delivery boy.

He had just wanted glory. Without having to actually pay the kind of price that thousands of boys his age had paid in blood. He'd been cowardly.

Words were being spoken. Speeches were being given. He heard his name announced. "sentenced to be hung by the neck until he is dead, under authority of the Government of the United States."

The minister then whispered a prayer over him at that point. "Almighty God, we ask forgiveness on this unfortunate brother's soul." The reverend continued with quotations of Bible verses that had made no sense before but indeed were now a lifeline of comfort. _If there's a God out there, please help me. Forgive all three of the others standing here now. We were all caught up in this horrible plot, all on account of Booth. We were pawns, used by him. Please help us_. _I'm sorry. Ma and ..Pa, where ever you are, I'm sorry. I want to see you again, Pa. Today. _

He found himself being pulled to a standing position. Someone was tying strips of white cloth, like sheets, around his knees and the other three condemned as well. He heard Lewis' voice, still sounding amazingly confident, replying to an executioner, "You know best, Captain." The next moment, a man in a white suit was putting a thick noose around his friend George's neck. George was to the left. He could see him trembling with terror off to the side but he didn't want to turn and watch, so he kept his eyes focused downward. _Please let it be fast. _

Then in an instant, the white-suited man grabbed hold of the noose that swung in front of David. He had not looked at it, yet it came into view. The rope looked rough! Terror swooped through his stomach. It was being casually placed around his neck. Like Ma, when David was a boy, putting a bow tie on him on Sundays. Much the same manner.

He couldn't help the whimpering sounds issuing from his throat. He willed himself to take it like a man, to not cry out loud.

A white cotton hood was being placed on his head. David looked up finally, to see the blue sky for the last time. Then the hood covered his eyes, and he saw nothing but sunlight-filtered white. Tears blurred the vision. _God, please_.

The voices around him started to quiet down, except for a terrified, shrill voice to his left.

"_Gentlemen- farewell! May we all meet again_!"

George was anguished. He was more innocent than David was. He was assigned by Booth to kill the Vice President, but couldn't do it. George was not a coward- he just wasn't a killer. Neither of them were killers. Nor was the lady. Only Lewis had physically, savagely attempted to murder a human being with his hands, but had only maimed the man.

George's cry filled the air, then was silenced and muffled by the cotton hooding. The hum of the crowd of soldiers and prison guards softened, then everyone fell silent. David wanted to sob out loud but he willed himself to be silent. This was his last chance to be a brave man.

A bang sounded, and all four fell. The floor disappeared from David's feet. He fell through space. His neck was choked tight and all means of breathing were cut off. Excruciating pain of being strangled engulfed him. _God, help me! _

A white hot light was spinning and his brain was on fire. He could not breathe. Then, after a few horrifying moments of the torture of strangulation, the white light softened, and the pain softened as well. He was fading away, falling asleep.

The executioner had botched his job, and two of the four- David, along with the strong, confident Lewis- had not died instantly.

Justice had been served, and young lives had to pay the price.

* * *

_A.N. This hanging was probably the first "filmed" execution in American history. If you ever see the series of photographs by Alexander Gardner, you will be shocked and sickened. I feel, just like in the theme of the movie, the civilian conspiracy suspects did not recieve a fair trial. One thing about the movie- Lewis Payne was not portrayed correctly in the hanging scene. He did NOT whimper, __or show great fear (David did, and that was very accurate.) Lewis also declared Mary Surratt's innocence among his last words._


End file.
